


Symbolic

by panisdead



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Aliens Make Them Do It, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-19
Updated: 2011-02-19
Packaged: 2017-10-15 18:50:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/163811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panisdead/pseuds/panisdead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"They believe the <em>gate</em> requires <em>foreplay</em>."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Symbolic

**Author's Note:**

> Kormantic played lead beta on this one, with Rusty76 and Tinyfroglet on backup. They were all incredibly helpful, but Tinyfroglet gets extra thanks for taking this on as her first! slash! experience!
> 
> Notes: It's a cliche because it's _awesome_.

A tinkly little stream meandered across the site where they'd parked the jumper, a couple hundred meters from the gate. The water sparkled in the sunlight as it swept over picturesque jumbles of stone, burbling happily on its way down the mountainside. It was all very pretty, John thought distractedly. Too bad it wasn't loud enough to drown out the sound of their mission going to hell.

"They believe the _gate_ requires _foreplay._ " Rodney stood with his arms folded and his jaw jutting out, radiating belligerence. "Please tell me you told them that's fucking _ludicrous,_ and I don't want to hear any of that crap about respecting the divergent beliefs of our galactic allies. I cannot possibly respect anyone with such an obvious Freudian bias."

Teyla looked pretty belligerent herself. "Dr. McKay, whatever your feelings on the subject, the Loeri consider the stargate to be a sacred symbol of womanhood, and they will not allow us to leave the planet without the proper offering. They have also made it clear that our acceptance into their trade network is dependent upon our participation."

"Well, now that's just ducky, isn't it. May I remind you that they're freaky alien _sex fiends_?" Rodney's voice rose to an ear-piercing volume on the last phrase. Teyla's eyes narrowed and her stance shifted in the ominous way that John recognized from too many beatdowns with the fighting sticks. Belatedly, he stepped forward to rejoin the conversation.

"Now, now, Rodney, surely we can find a way to work with the nice people who want to trade us raw naquadah for _saline solution._ " It really was an amazing trade opportunity--enormous amounts of raw material that could be processed for weapons, and maybe even rigged up as a power source if they were really lucky--in exchange for drums full of Atlantean sea water, which was, oh yeah, _free_.

"Of course, Major, you should definitely side with the kinky aliens. Because that's always worked out so well for us before." Rodney shot John a venomous glare. Wheeling abruptly to face Teyla, he waved one hand at the distant gate in a vaguely obscene manner. "But yes, fine, we need the raw materials, the gate needs lubing up before we slide our giant, pulsing spaceship through. Can't the Major just go diddle the DHD or something?"

"Hey!" John scowled at him. "Why is it always me?"

Luckily, the Loeri elder chose that time to reappear in the doorway of the jumper with an armload of metal boxes containing the samples of raw naquadah they'd wheedled out of him, cutting off Rodney's response. He was decked out in the traditional ceremonial garb of his people, which appeared to be some kind of uber-flower child outfit, complete with fringed suede vest, huaraches and a huge string of beads. The elder bowed deeply, then straightened up and beamed at them, beads clinking. "Which two among you wish to perform the sacred rite of preparation?" He looked positively thrilled at the prospect, John thought. Freak.

A brief flicker of concern showed on Teyla's face. Next to her, Ford still looked the same as he had ever since the elder had dropped the bombshell on them--speechless, torn between mortification and helpless, juvenile laughter.

Uh oh. "Well, uh, we haven't quite figured that out yet," began John, hoping against hope that this would cue the elder to burst into laughter at their gullibility. _Those Atlanteans, they fall for it every time._

He was interrupted by the sound of Rodney's vest hitting the floor of the jumper with a loud clunk. "Oh please, Major, who do you _think_ it's going to be? You might as well start stripping; unless you want the gate to think you're a tease." At John's stunned look he rolled his eyes and huffed, "What, you were going to make Ford do it? At least you and I have the practice. Such as it was." _That_ glare was entirely too familiar.

John felt his entire torso flush red, while his grip on the P-90 slowly tightened until his knuckles turned white. " _McKay._ " He wondered if his murderous glare was quite as effective in this color.

"Saline solution, Major. Surely you can get it up for the ability to trade in sea water." Rodney rounded on him with an irritated sneer, arm half out of his jacket. "Just try not pass out immediately afterwards this time."

"I'd been up for fifty-three hours!" John burst out, stung, even as his hands moved to the buckles of his vest.

"I had eleven stitches in my arm, I was high on painkillers, and I still managed to get the job done!"

"Yeah, well--" John cut off abruptly at the sight of Ford's eyes, enormously round in his frozen face. Next to him, Teyla's expression underwent a kind of humorous writhe. At the end of it her face was perfectly blank, but she appeared to be biting her lip rather hard. "Oh, for-- _fine._ Teyla, Ford, stay with the jumper and be ready to dial up the instant we get clearance." He waited until they nodded in acknowledgment--with a much greater show of deference than usual, and _goddammit_ , he was never going to live this down--then narrowed his eyes and made a valiant attempt to pin Teyla to the jumper wall with his gaze. "You should also find out if we're gonna have to prime the gate before every trip, or if this is just a one night stand." God, the things he put up with in the name of potential power sources.

"You're lucky, you know," Rodney grumbled, toeing off his boots with more vehemence than seemed strictly necessary. "Comatose and snoring doesn't usually rate a second round with me." He shoved his socks into the discarded boots, then strode down the jumper ramp after the elder, barefoot and in shirt sleeves, not looking back. The clink of beads drifted after them.

Ford made a choked noise that sounded too suspiciously far from "awed and manly respect for a commanding officer" for John's injured pride. Tossing his own boots against the wall of the jumper, he drew himself up to his full height, which was unfortunately an inch and a half shorter without the boots, and leveled his best "latrine duty" stare in Ford's direction. "There a problem, Lieutenant?"

Ford snapped to attention, face blank and eyes fixed on a point over John's left shoulder. "No sir, not at all sir."

"Good."

"Although if you'd maybe like some of my Breathe-Rite strips, sir..."

John squeezed his eyes shut and poured all his energy into not lunging at Ford's jugular. "Lieutenant. Prepare. The. Jumper." He spun on his heel--which kind of hurt, now that he was barefoot on an uneven metal surface--and marched down the ramp after Rodney.

Thankfully, the rite of preparation wasn't open to the public or anything, so when they reached the Sacred Hut of Foreplay or whatever the hell it was, which was stationed a short distance up the mountainside between the jumper and the gate, there were only two kinky alien acolytes in addition to himself, Rodney, and the Loeri elder. Rodney had spent the walk griping and occasionally hopping about on one foot to remove the burrs that clung to the picturesque little flowers dotting the mountainside.

"Why did you take your boots off, anyway?" John hissed at him, staring at the sweeping abstract designs carved into the inside walls of the tiny hut. "Feet aren't sexy."

"How should I know what kind of weird fetishes these people have? I was just improvising; I didn't know we'd be running a gauntlet to get up here. Anyway, you could have kept yours on."

"I was improvising too," muttered John, not meeting his eyes. Too bad there was nothing else to look at--all he could see from in here was the gate, framed cunningly in the doorway, although it was partially obscured by the weird fringe draped over the door frame and _hold on a minute,_ was that supposed to represent _pubic hair_? Geez, these people really took their symbolism seriously.

"Okay, now what?" He turned to find Rodney eyeing the burly acolytes uneasily. The freaky elder was still beaming at them like they were his favorite nephews and not total strangers about to put on an impromptu sex show in the name of trade relations.

"Now we begin," chirped the elder, clapping his hands together sharply. It made his fringe swing dramatically. One of the acolytes, a giant of a man with red hair and enormous ears, took a step toward them, a long wooden staff in his hands. Rodney immediately backed up into John, scrunching himself between John's shoulder and the wall of the hut. John put a steadying hand on his arm and stepped forward, blocking the acolyte.

"Hold on a minute here, there's no need for--" he shut up abruptly when the man merely set his staff on the ground and began to trace a line in the dirt. The line turned into a half circle, and then the other acolyte was nudging them away from the wall to stand in the center of the hut while the half circle became a whole, he and Rodney together in the center. The elder clapped his hands again and the two acolytes moved to stand on either side of him, blocking the entrance to the hut. All three men crossed their arms over their chests and began to chant.

"Well. This is different." Rodney gazed speculatively between him and the men. "I don't think I've ever had backup singers before."

"Or a cheering squad." John let out a little bark of strained laughter, the reality of the situation starting to sink in. "Um, so what exactly are we supposed to be doing here again? Because this isn't usually how I--"

"Yeah, I think we've already established that you don't have a clue, Major," Rodney interrupted. "Lucky for you, I'm around to pick up the slack." Rolling his eyes, he turned to face John, leaned in to drag one big, warm hand down the center of John's chest, and went to his knees.

John swallowed hard, feeling his face heat as Rodney worked his belt buckle free. Rodney's hands were warm, his mouth warmer, and John hadn't been so fried with exhaustion last time that he didn't remember _this._

Rodney sucked him down with more speed than finesse, one hand clamped on John's ass and the other around the base of his dick. John staggered a little at the sudden rush of stimulation--geez, give a guy a little warning--then braced his legs farther apart and tried to find something to stare at that wasn't a bunch of harmonizing aliens. Rodney's lips on him were soft and slick, his big hand hot and determined, but the chanting was distracting and the big red-haired acolyte kept sneaking little peeks at them, then glancing away really fast whenever John caught him looking. He could feel his erection flagging, and no way, that was just not acceptable, they would be stuck here on this planet forever and forced to learn macrame and Rodney would never, ever let him live it down. He scanned the room wildly for something, anything to bolster his libido and get them through this. As his gaze passed longingly over the distant gate, framed in the doorway, the elder looked up from his chanting and caught his eye with a pointed look, a _get on with it_ kind of look, and oh, that was _it._ Reaching down, John flung caution to the wind, fisted his hands around Rodney's ears, threw his head back, and just _went_ for it, because hey, they'd already established that consideration wasn't his strong suit.

It didn't take long after that. Rodney jerked, startled, then made a long, loud noise in the back of his throat. John cracked an eye open to make sure things weren't about to get ugly, saw Rodney's eyes flutter closed, the flush high on his cheekbones, and went back to panting and thrusting as blooms of pleasure unfurled in his belly. His orgasm hit him like a taser to the gut and he staggered backward into the wall, feeling the weird carvings rough against his shoulders through his t-shirt. Belatedly, he noticed he'd stumbled outside the circle traced in the dirt floor of the hut and hoped that wasn't some kind of capital sex crime.

Gasping for breath, he stared muzzily as Rodney surged to his feet, face bright red and eyes manic. "Oh yeah, Major, that was _great,_ " he panted, starting toward John. "Stay conscious, now, it's my turn," and that was when the acolytes grabbed him.

John jerked upright, instantly alert and cursing his lack of weaponry, but instead of menacing the Loeri looked thrilled, patting Rodney's head, smoothing his rumpled shirt, murmuring ceremonial phrases, and--

"Get off me, I don't want your stupid alien breath mi-- _mmmmph_!"

\--shoving something small and tablet-y into his mouth. Then the elder was approaching John, beaming again and gesturing happily toward the entrance of the hut and the gate, so John tuned out Rodney's outraged yelps of, " _Ludicrous_!" and, "Anaphylactic shock!" and concentrated on making himself presentable for Ford and Teyla. Riding high on the combined buzz of recent orgasm and furious, frustrated Rodney, he fought to keep from chuckling. The whole situation was really kind of funny.

***********  
The Loeri, once the gate's needs were satisfied, were most anxious to welcome the Atlanteans into the moist, potentially ZPM-rich folds of their trade network. The entire Loeri elder council convened on John and Rodney as they stumbled back down the mountainside toward the jumper, engulfing them in a cloud of something very like patchouli oil. Rodney, spluttering in sheer, overwhelming frustration since their departure from the hut, devolved into a coughing fit whenever any of the elders got within three feet of him. After several avuncular attempts at ruffling his hair resulted in cursing and violent sneezing the Loeri backed off, leaving the two of them at the center of a patchouli-scented circle as they trudged back to the jumper. John wondered idly how many strings of beads would be needed to ring their circumference.

Feeling expansive in his afterglow, he leaned over to bump shoulders with Rodney as they walked. "Hey," he said, pitching his voice low, not that it mattered much in this company. "Don't look so down, Rodney, I'll make it up to you." He widened his eyes, aiming for earnest and soulful. "Promise."

"I hate you," said Rodney, scowling until his brows nearly met in the middle. His gait was stiff and awkward, his mouth so pinched it was almost invisible. "This is your fault, and I hate you."

"Aw. And here I thought we were buddies." John choked down a sudden, overwhelming surge of hysterical laughter--God, he was in _so much trouble_ here. Rodney wasn't the forgive-and-forget type under the best of circumstances, and here John had just had strike two handed to him on a giant, hand-thrown clay platter. And yet--John bit his lip, sneaking a glance at Rodney's red, furious face and wild hair--it was just too fucking funny. The whole situation was like the best sort of hilariously cruel hazing prank, one that had ended up with John on the receiving end of a killer blowjob, which just made it even better. The temptation to yank Rodney's chain was nearly unbelievable--it was the same impulse that in the past had led John to do things like battle a super-wraith with a powerbar, or plop down on a glowy Ancient La-Z-Boy in the middle of a restricted military zone. And those decisions had all turned out for the best, hadn't they? He smiled wider, then draped one elbow across Rodney's shoulder and yawned extravagantly. "Good thing we've only got one more stop to make before we head home."

"We--one more-- _what_?!"

John released him, reaching one arm up to casually massage the back of his own neck, _hmming_ a little in his throat as he hit a tight spot. He gazed at Rodney from under lowered eyelashes, the picture of innocent teasing. "Weren't you paying attention back there? The Loeri have a rendezvous all set up for us with their trade partners on MX8-653--uh, Gdoun, I think they called it."

"Yes! The Gdoun council will be most honored to meet with the representatives of Atlantis," broke in one of the Loeri. This one had a long, graying ponytail tied back with a braided leather thong. "They are preparing a fine reception for you at this very moment!"

"Hear that, Rodney? A reception, just for us." John rolled his shoulders, letting his stride smooth out into more of a lazy, post-coital stroll. "Mm, I hope they have snacks. I've sure got the munchies."

Thankfully, at that moment the crowd of elders parted to reveal the jumper, boxes of naquadah samples visible through the open hatch, so John merely winked at Rodney, ignoring his expression of gape-mouthed outrage, and strolled on up the ramp. "Ford, Teyla, you guys ready to head out?" he called as he shoved his feet back into his discarded boots, no tremor in his voice to betray his frantic amusement as the crowd of Loeri closed in on Rodney in a clinking orgy of goodbye hugs and hair-ruffling.

"Yes sir, ready to move out--uh--sir..." Ford trailed off and reddened as the group of aliens disgorged Rodney, who stumbled up the ramp with streaming eyes and a loud, wet sneeze.

"I take it matters were resolved to the Loeri's...satisfaction?" asked Teyla, perfectly neutral. John flopped down in the pilot's seat and smirked, letting his legs splay open. Rodney slid stiffly into the copilot's seat and attacked his harness with a stunning degree of violence, face murderous.

"Yep," drawled John, draping one arm loosely over the seat back and avoiding Teyla's gaze. He eyed Rodney lazily, trying to see if he was still hard. He'd been pretty worked up back there, thought John. He felt a happy little buzz of sense memory, remembering Rodney's eyelashes fluttering closed, the way his cheeks had hollowed. And then to get cut off like that with no release, hauled up and frisked by altar boys and stuffed, erection and all, into a confined space with a bunch of _coworkers_ \--he couldn't help the hiccup of laughter that escaped him at that. Too funny. "And guess what? Now we get to go to a cocktail party."

The glare Rodney aimed at him should have flayed the skin from his bones.

******************  
It was quickly established that the natives of Gdoun--which was not, to John's secret disappointment, an Eighties Revival planet--would be thrilled to open formal negotiations with the lost city of Atlantis, and would next Tuesday about 4pm be good for them? John spent a pleasant half hour schmoozing and smiling and scarfing down some really excellent little cocktail sausages--Ford had taken one look at the platter and gone crimson--while anticipating Elizabeth's reaction to acquiring _two_ new allies in one afternoon. Rodney spent the entire visit glaring at John. And then they were finalizing arrangements and shaking hands and waving goodbye as Ford dialed Atlantis--the Gdouna did not have any particular stipulations regarding usage of their stargate, thank god--and heading home.

As expected, Elizabeth was thrilled with the report of their newfound trading partners. Oh, she pasted a suave diplomatic face on things, and tossed out a lot of phrases like "strategic alliance" and "mutual benefit," but John had learned to read her pretty well over the past several months, and he knew that on the inside she was really jumping up and down like a little girl and shrieking, "Saline solution!"

"Yep, I'd say the entire mission was an unqualified success," drawled John, leaning back and crossing his legs at the ankle. At the far end of the conference table, Rodney jerked upright like someone had stuck a fork in his ass. "There were a couple of minor cultural hurdles with the Loeri, but Rodney and I got everything taken care of, and Teyla assures me that it should be smooth sailing with the natives from here on out."

"Cultural hurdles?" Elizabeth raised an eyebrow.

John gave her his most winning smile and carefully did not make eye contact with anyone on his team. "Oh, nothing to worry about; the Loeri just like for all first time visitors to pay their respects to the gate. You know, make a one-time-only, symbolic kind of gesture. Just a little kneeling and chanting before we dialed out."

Rodney made a short, strangled noise. His hands on the table were clenched into fists, and it was a toss-up who was redder, him or Ford.

Elizabeth leaned back slightly and gazed between them, eyes narrowed. John smiled wider and held his ground. "They had kicky fashion sense too," he said. "You'll like them." He slung one arm over the back of his chair and brought the other hand up to toy idly with his dog tags.

Elizabeth eyed him a moment longer, clearly suspicious, but turned instead to Teyla. "You were able to secure safe passage through the gate for future teams?"

"Once we demonstrated our willingness to abide by their traditions, the Loeri were very accommodating," said Teyla. "I believe our future interactions with them will be quite--routine."

"Well then, that's very good news." Elizabeth laid her palms flat on the table and smiled at them. "Excellent work, gentlemen; Teyla. I'll expect your written reports tomorrow. Dismissed."

Ford was out the door the instant she finished speaking, leaving an almost palpable haze of embarrassment in his wake. He sure was taking the situation kind of hard, thought John. Maybe Dr. Beckett could give him a pamphlet or something. John eased himself out of the chair with a nod and a smile for Elizabeth, and announced to the room at large, "Well, I'm beat. All that negotiating can really take it out of a guy." God, _so much trouble._ He linked his fingers together and stretched his arms up, up over his head, feeling his shirt tug free of his belt. Turning slowly, luxuriously, toward the door, he caught sight of Teyla staring at him, eyes narrowed. He winked and reached up to stroke the door frame. "Catch you guys later."

"Just one damn minute--" Rodney lurched up from the table, but was stopped by Teyla's hand on his arm.

"Dr. McKay, if I might have a word," she said, still frowning in John's direction.

John knew a strategic advantage when he saw one. He beat feet down the hall, and if there was a little more strut to his stride than normal, he could blame it on a trade mission well done.

When he reached the fringes of the occupied section he found the transporter under repair. A blue-shirted tech was crouched in the hallway next to the open doors, surrounded by chunks of crystal and glowing circuitry. John stood for a moment, contemplating the long walk back to his quarters, then turned instead down the corridor that led toward the lower levels and the mess hall. Maybe a sandwich first, then. He still had the munchies.

He'd made it down to the mess hall level and was breathing deeply, trying to determine tonight's menu by smell alone, when behind him he heard the sudden swoosh of transporter doors opening and a weird clattering sound. He half-turned in time to see Rodney barreling toward him, life-signs detector in hand, then there was a stinging _thwack_ across the back of his right thigh and, " _OW_ , fuck, McKay, what is your _problem,_ " Rodney grabbed his arm and shoved him bodily through an open door.

"Oh, _now_ you want to talk about my problem?" said Rodney, jamming the detector in his pocket and waving a hand toward the door to close it. John had time to register the length of the empty room, filled with rows of sheet-draped Ancient equipment, before Rodney shouldered him back into the wall. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather call a meeting? Maybe hold a summit?" Rodney's right arm, which had been hidden behind his back, swung up suddenly, and--

"Dammit, stop that!" yelped John, as something clouted him sharply across the shoulder, narrowly missing his ear. He made a grab for the object--it looked an awful lot like one of the Athosian fighting sticks, but the size was wrong, and something about the way it swished through the air made it seem almost springy, like bamboo. Rodney twisted away before he could get a good grip on it, though, and jabbed an index finger into his chest.

"You made me sit through a briefing. With Elizabeth. With _Ford,_ " gritted Rodney. "Not to mention visit an entirely superfluous planet!" Eyes wild, he made as if to bring the stick up to John's throat. Up close, the designs on it seemed kind of...pastel. "I thought I was going to have a stroke!"

John gave up trying to examine the stick and just grabbed it in both hands and hung on. "Please, you've got blue balls. It's not a life-threatening condition," he said with as much condescension as he could muster, given the bubble of hysterical laughter lodged in his throat. It was possible he deserved a little rancor, what with the alien reception and the lounging and that thing with the dog tags. He snickered, unable to help himself. The dog tags were _bankable._

"Shut. Up." said Rodney. He pushed down on John's shoulder, hard. "Knees."

"You know, that might come off as more masterful if you'd remembered to disarm me first," John said, biting back a giggle.

"Like I care what you think." Another shove, and,

"Yeah, okay," said John, and slithered to the floor, just a little breathless.

He fisted both hands in Rodney's waistband and tugged his pants and boxers down in one go. Rodney's dick was hard, wet, and--geez, was he normally that color? Maybe he _had_ been a little cruel, making him wait this long. John's first stirrings of guilt were squelched as Rodney grabbed a handful of his hair and shook John's head back and forth impatiently.

"Oh my god, what are you waiting for? My blood pressure's reaching critical levels here!"

John rolled his eyes and leaned in. He smoothed his mouth slowly down around Rodney's dick, sucking lightly, and brought both hands up to rub little circles over Rodney's cushy hipbones. Slow. Rodney deserved long and slow; he'd had a tough day, after all. John felt his lips try to curl into a smirk and fought it back down with difficulty. Right; slow. The angle was a bit awkward, but Rodney's hips felt good in his hands, heavy and warm, and he settled back on his heels and _hmmmed_ a little in pleasure. He pulled off gradually, dragging it out, and then gently mouthed the head of Rodney's dick, feeling it swell in his mouth. John could feel his face starting to heat a little; he'd thought he was done for the day, but it was looking like maybe all the lounging and teasing had kept his motor running after all. He leaned in for another long, slow swallow, keeping it smooth, ready to make it worth Rodney's while, but was startled out of his daze by another yank on his hair.

Rodney's eyes were squeezed shut and he was clutching the bridge of his nose in an expression John usually associated with catastrophic power failure. He let go of Rodney's hips and sat back, vaguely affronted. Come on, he'd been _working_ it there.

"Major." Rodney's voice was tight. "I'm going to say this once and only once." His eyes snapped open, and John barely checked his recoil; his eyes were _scary._ "I have been patient. I have exercised discipline. I have been helpful and meek and accommodating and I've eaten a goddamn alien tic-tac and I sat in the conference room and watched you play with your _jewelry_ \--" oh yeah, the dog tags were bank, "--and I _don't care if you're any good_!"

Rodney shoved him, hard, and John slid backwards, and then he was on the floor with his shoulders propped up against the wall and Rodney straddling his chest and practically ramming his dick down his throat, and John grabbed him and gasped in a breath and found that, yeah, okay, he could work with this. He squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed; swallowed again, feeling his pulse pounding at his throat and Rodney's belly soft against his forehead. God, he was crazy turned on; it had been almost half a day since his last orgasm, after all. It was only fair that he got a little of his own back. He let go of Rodney with one hand and squirmed around, trying to get a hand on his own dick. He got one sweet, blistering moment of contact before Rodney twisted above him, baring his teeth at John, and rapped him sharply across the knuckles with the damn stick--and that was more than a little insulting, that he'd managed to hold on to the stick this long. "What the _fuck_ ," John swore, or tried to, but then Rodney groaned and stiffened and John was too busy swallowing as Rodney came down his throat, because apparently he'd just been waiting until he had John's undivided attention.

Rodney pulled out of his mouth and fell heavily to the side, landing sprawled on the floor with his feet under a console. John wiped his mouth and panted, feeling frantic. Fuck, he was horny, and Rodney was going to hang him out to dry here. What was worse, no jury in the galaxy would convict him. Hell, in his shoes, _John_ wouldn't convict him. He pushed himself to his elbows, gasping, and turned his head to find Rodney grinning at him and massaging the miniature fighting stick in a way that was downright evil. "Oh, come on!" John burst out. "I was just kidding around!"

Rodney eyed him for a moment, sated and smug, while John mentally rifled through his repertoire of pleading expressions. He was seconds away from outright begging when Rodney snorted, rolling his eyes at him. "Okay, fine, I'm willing to open negotiations," he said, smirking. Leaning over, he wrapped one broad hand around John's dick, and John closed his eyes and counted backward from ten and came.

Afterward, lying on the floor feeling bruised and sticky and pleased, if kind of wishing he could score one of those Loeri breath mints, John rolled his head to the side and patted the fighting stick. It was resting gently across Rodney's stomach, bobbing slightly with each breath. Now that Rodney wasn't flailing around with it, the designs had resolved into a montage of suns and stars and smiling little flowers. "Where did you even get that?" he asked.

"Hmm?" Rodney didn't even crack an eyelid in his direction. His pants were still hanging open, but he had his hands clasped over his stomach and looked to be settling in for the duration. "Oh, the training stick. Used to teach the rudiments of stick fighting to the younger children, mold them into fine upstanding Athosians, all that. Occasionally used to discipline the more, hmm, foolishly wayward." One corner of his mouth quirked upward, though his eyes stayed closed. "Teyla gave it to me."

"What?" John felt himself come awake with a little frisson of unease. "Teyla? Why? What did she say?"

Rodney shifted a little on the floor, settling in, and yawned. "She said, 'Aim for the knees.'"

END


End file.
